


An Empty Table

by ddagent



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Books, Christmas, Coffee, Cuddling & Snuggling, F/M, Friendship, Philinda Secret Santa
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-22
Updated: 2015-12-22
Packaged: 2018-05-08 12:10:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,063
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5496602
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ddagent/pseuds/ddagent
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Two strangers, one table, countless books. A friendship born over a single black coffee and one hot chocolate. For the 'Philinda Secret Santa'.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. October

**Author's Note:**

> I do not own Agents of SHIELD or any of its characters, or settings - all belongs to Marvel and ABC.
> 
> FORGETBAHRAIN I AM YOUR SECRET SANTA! I honestly hope you are not disappointed. I really enjoyed getting to know you, as well as writing this story. It gave me the chance to write the legendary 'coffee shop au', and it was really a lot of fun. I hope you like it. Happy Holidays! 
> 
> [Big thank you to righteousnerd for her help, as always! You are my star.]
> 
> Prompt: "Books, Hot Chocolate, Cuddles, Fluff"

His first cup of coffee was always over breakfast. Two slices of toast with a little butter, then a black coffee just to get the caffeine pumping round his system. He’d be out the door by eight twenty, walking to the subway so he could catch the train to work. His next cup of coffee was always before his first class of the day. A little milk this time; no sugar. By the time lunchtime came around, he’d had another two cups. He’d follow the same pattern throughout the afternoon, except on Tuesdays and Thursdays. He had no classes then, and instead liked to get his caffeine fix _off_ campus.

 

 _Providence_ was a small coffee shop a fifteen minute walk away. There were several places much closer, but he didn’t want to risk running in to any of his students. He also liked the lack of commercialism. No popular music blaring through the speakers; no CDs on sale by the cash register. Homemade cakes. Perfectly brewed coffee. And if he timed it just right, a quiet corner table just to himself.

 

Unfortunately, on that Tuesday, Phil had not timed it right. He pushed through the door to _Providence,_ immediately bumping in to a suited man talking on a headset. Peering round him, Phil sighed at the length of the queue. He didn’t know whether his timing was off or whether the delicious cakes and coffee the shop was selling had brought in an abundance of customers. Either way, Phil had to stand. And wait.

 

Eventually, with the caffeine in his blood stream thinning, Phil reached the head of the line. “Hi there, could I get a large black coffee and a grilled cheese sandwich?”

 

The barista behind the counter smiled. “Of course. Would you like to try one of our cakes? We’ve got fresh gingerbread men!”

 

“Sure, why not.” After a tiring morning of classes, he could do with a little sugar boost. “How much do I owe you?”

 

Phil handed over a few bills, sliding his change into the tip pot right next to the till. He waited by the other counter for his order, using the moment to take stock of the coffee shop. His usual corner table was occupied by two students and a stack of books. A collection of sugar packets and espresso cups littered their table. Unfortunately, every other table in the place had someone sitting at it. Phil peered desperately over the heads of the other patrons, trying to spot an empty seat. He managed to find one by the window.

 

Unfortunately, that table also had an occupant.

 

As the barista slid his freshly made coffee and sandwich onto a tray, Phil decided to brave it. He wanted somewhere to sit down and eat; just collect himself before he started his marking. As he navigated his way between tables, he saw that the woman’s drink was half empty. She’d likely leave halfway through his sandwich and he could sit quite happily by himself marking papers on the Civil War.

 

He just had to ask her first.

 

“Ahem,” Phil said, clearing his throat. “Excuse me-“

 

“ _What_?” The woman looked up sharply from the book she was reading; dark eyes boring into his.

 

This was a bad idea. But Phil _really_ wanted to sit down. “I’m sorry to bother you, but would you mind if I sat here? There’s no other tables.”

 

She looked around the coffee shop, brow furrowing as if only just realising how busy the place had become. She then moved her cup towards her, giving him space on the small table for his tray. “Be my guest.”

 

Phil beamed, ready to start thanking her profusely for her kind gesture. New Yorkers weren’t exactly known for their kindness. However the woman immediately buried herself back into her book. With a bob of his head, Phil just sat down and began to eat his lunch. The grilled cheese was good, the gingerbread man as delicious as hoped. Between bites he looked up at his table companion. Her dark hair fell across her face as she read; her eyes never wavering from the page. She was beautiful; incredibly so. With nothing to read, no space to mark, Phil found himself staring.

 

The book descended for a moment so she could take a sip of her drink. She caught his eye, and he immediately looked away. Just before she could retake her place on the page, Phil spoke. “Good book?”

 

He mentally kicked himself for such a dumb question.

 

“Yes.”

 

“What’s it about?”

 

_Let the poor woman read her book in peace, Phil._

“It’s a spy novel.”

 

That piqued Phil’s interest. He’d been interested in spy fiction ever since he was a child, having used his library card to take out the entire collection of Ian Fleming one glorious summer. As the years had gone by, he’d moved onto old detective stories, noir fiction. His shelves at home were filled with Raymond Chandler and John D. MacDonald. He looked at the front page of the woman’s book, not recognising the title or author. “Old school spies?”

 

He might have been mistaken, but he did see the corners of her mouth twitch. “Yes. It’s set during the Cold War. Main character’s a British spy trying to turn a Russian Intelligence agent. I prefer the old spy stories to the modern ones. Too much flash. Not enough suspense.”

 

“Me too!” Phil grinned. Last summer he’d tried reading a spy novel he’d picked up at the airport. He’d got ten pages in before all the techno references had rendered the prose useless. “It’s all James Bond rip offs and _24_ style stories these days. I love the old books. When spies were spies and they could only rely on themselves.”

 

She nodded. Her mouth twitched again, a little longer this time. “This one starts off with someone trying to kill the main character. Silencer right against their pillow.”

 

Phil leant across and looked at the front cover, memorising the title and author. As he looked up, he realised that the woman was smiling at him. She really was beautiful. “Sorry, I get a little too enthusiastic about historical spy novels. I’m a history professor at NYU.”

 

The woman nodded. “What are you teaching this semester?”

 

“A lot of stuff. This morning was the Civil War.” Phil pulled back, reaching for his coffee. “One of my colleagues is out on maternity leave. My wheelhouse is more the Cold War; First and Second World Wars. I’ve actually had some research published about Steve Rogers.”

 

She smirked, lifting her cup to her lips. “You a big Captain America fan, huh?”

 

Phil swallowed, trying to appear nonchalant. “I wouldn’t say _big._ ”

 

“You have little shields on your tie.” Phil looked down, lips thinning in a grimace as he realised what tie he had picked that morning. When he looked back up at his table companion, she was smiling. “It’s cute.”

 

“Thank you.” Phil smiled awkwardly, taking another sip of coffee to cover his nerves. “What about you? What do you do for a living?”

 

“I…uh…” She faltered; lips hesitating round the rim of her mug. Somewhere between her book and his tie, the conversation had changed from the awkward small talk of two strangers sharing a table to an actual conversation. Phil was glad when she dropped her cup to the table. “I own my own business.” A pause. “A martial arts studio.”

 

“Wow! That sounds incredible!”

 

Phil wanted to ask her so many questions. How long had she been interested in martial arts, where was her studio located? Did she like it? Did she grow up on spy novels wanting to be a spy? But in the end, Phil asked none of those things. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed his usual table open up. Whilst he had sat talking to this woman, the crowd in _Providence_ had thinned. He could take what was left of his coffee and his marking and retake his usual place in the corner.

 

“A table’s opened up,” Phil said, eyes darting to his familiar table. “Thank you for letting me sit with you, I really appreciate it. I really enjoyed talking with you.”

 

“Me too.”

 

There was no exchange of names, nothing more than a simple smile exchanged over half drunk china. Phil gathered his bag and moved to the corner. From his position, he watched her pick up her book again, her fingers curling over another page. He watched her until he drained the last of his coffee. By the time he returned with a fresh one, she was gone.

 

\--

 

On Thursday, Phil returned to _Providence._ His students had handed in their essays on the importance of Steve Rogers in World War II and he was looking forward to catching out anyone who had watched the film rather than read the extensive book list he had provided. Unlike the other day, there was no queue when he walked into _Providence._ The lunch rush was dying down and Phil moved to the head of the line.

 

“Hi there, could I get a grilled cheese sandwich with a black coffee, please?” Phil said, smiling at the barista behind the counter.

 

The barista, wearing a _Star Wars_ tie underneath his apron, grinned back as he put his order through. “Absolutely. Would you be interested in a slice of carrot cake? It’s freshly baked today.”

 

He _did_ love carrot cake. His Mom had always made it for Easter. “Sure thing.”

 

Phil handed over a few notes from his pocket, sliding the change into the tip jar as soon as he got it. As another customer moved to the head of the line, Phil shuffled along to the side. He immediately glanced to the corner, happy as punch to find that his corner table was empty. His eyes roamed over the rest of the coffee shop, stopping as they found one person in particular. The woman was back. Different book. He watched her for a moment as she took a sip of her drink, whipped cream clinging to her upper lip. She wiped it away with her thumb before turning another page.

 

“Um, sir? Your order is ready?”

 

“Oh?” Phil turned back to the barista pushing a tray towards him. “Thanks.”

 

Taking his tray in hand, Phil decided to swing by the woman’s table, if for no other reason than to just say _hi_. He’d thought about her yesterday, in the campus book store. Her book from Tuesday was currently nestled between the papers he needed to grade. As he approached, he saw the grip on her book tighten. It relaxed when she saw it was him.

 

“Hello.”

 

“Hi again. Don’t worry, I’m gonna get my own table today.” He smiled nervously. “I just wanted to say that I really like the book. So, _thank you._ Enjoy your coffee.”

 

Leaving the woman with another smile, Phil took up his customary table in the corner. He set his tray down to one side and fished out his new book with the other. He turned to page fifty-seven whilst his other hand picked up half the grilled cheese. He got through another ten pages before he remembered to take a bite. With every page he could see why the woman had been so disgruntled when he’d disturbed her. He’d hate to be interrupted whilst reading this.

 

Once his sandwich was eaten, and all but a few crumbs of carrot cake remained, Phil left the book to one side. He supposed he would have to start grading those papers now. He’d just reached for his second cup of the afternoon when he noticed a shadow fall over his table.  

 

“May I join you?”

 

It was the woman. Phil nodded eagerly, moving aside some of the essays to let her sit. He felt momentarily thrilled as he realised she’d come over specifically to talk to him. “You got a new book.”

 

She looked down at the cover clutched in her hands. “I did. I couldn’t put the other one down. The ending was…” She bowed her head. “I won’t spoil it for you. Where are you up to?”

 

“Elizabeth just met Sergei for the first time at the Ambassador’s party.” Phil reached for the book, flicking for the chapter he had just finished. “I’m really hoping her handler dies. He’s an asshole.”

 

The small quirk of her lips suggested he might just get his wish. “You wait until the next chapter.” She leaned over conspiratorially. “You get to find out what the key opens.”

 

Phil slumped in his seat, staring awkwardly between the papers he needed to grade and the new book he had fallen madly in love with. “I’m going to sit here all afternoon reading, aren’t I?”

 

“Yes. But it’ll be worth it.” The woman reached over with her hand. Phil took it, shaking it twice. “I’m Melinda.”

 

“Phil.” Suddenly he’d lost all interest in grading Captain America papers. Suddenly his only interest was talking more with _Melinda._ “Thank you for the accidental recommendation. You got anything I should read after this?”

 

Melinda pushed across her new book. “Not my usual taste. But it’s good. One of my students recommended it to me.” 

 

Phil took up the book, checking out the back cover. _A noir story about a PI and the journalist she falls in love with._ He flicked through the pages, admiring the yellowing paper and the rich smell that floated out. There was a second hand book store a few blocks from the coffee shop that he frequented on Friday nights. He wondered if he’d ever run into Melinda without even knowing it. Maybe their fingers had brushed over a copy of Chandler.

 

“It’ll be my next book.”

 

“It should.” Melinda eased it from his fingers. “I have to go; I have another class to teach. But it was good running into you, Phil. Enjoy chapter nine.”

 

Melinda slid the book under her arm before she headed out onto the street. With no more distractions, Phil could get down to marking. Yet he knew without a shadow of a doubt that he would be finding out what went on in chapter nine instead. He slipped the papers into his bag, promising himself takeout from the Italian place down the street and a glass of wine when he got home. Right now, his attention belonged to Elizabeth and her mission.

 

Around five o’clock, just when he was ready to pack up, the door to _Providence_ opened again. Melinda came through, finger-brushing out the tangles the autumn wind had caused. She ordered a takeout coffee at the counter before glancing in his direction. He raised the book high to show her just where his bookmark was. She gave him a blinding smile as she headed back out into the city.


	2. November

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I do not own Agents of SHIELD or any of its characters, or settings - all belongs to Marvel and ABC.

“Hi there, could I get a black coffee and a grilled cheese please?”

 

The barista nodded, putting his order through the till. The devil horns she’d worn with her uniform last week were gone, as were the Halloween decorations that had covered the shop. “Could I interest you in one of our triple chocolate brownies? They’re _scarily_ good.”

 

She rolled her eyes as she realised she could stop with the puns now. But, thankfully, the brownie _did_ sound good. “Make it two.”

 

Paying at the counter, Phil put the small amount left from his change in the tip jar. He stuffed a couple of extra dollars inside before making his way over to the second counter. He took his order quickly and immediately began to scout out a place to sit. He crossed over the coffee shop, narrowly missing a pregnant woman and the stroller resting by the table. When he reached the table, he slid his tray in front of a copy of _The Man Who Never Sleeps._  

 

“You finish it yet?”

 

Melinda held up the new book they had agreed to start together. She was already a chapter in. “Last night. What did you think?”

 

Somewhere between the start of term and the end of Halloween, Phil’s Tuesday and Thursday afternoons had been occupied by what he liked to call _Providence Book Club._ He had started following Melinda’s book recommendations, even suggesting a few to her. For a couple of weeks they had just sat, staring across the coffee shop, as they watched for the other person’s reaction. One memorable afternoon, Melinda had been there with napkins after he had spilled hot coffee all over himself during one particular twist.

 

Now they ate, drank, and read together.

 

“I _loved_ it. Nice pick, as always. Hey, the barista seems to have given me an extra brownie – you want it?”

 

Melinda nodded; lips quirking in a smile as Phil slid the brownie towards her. “Thank you.”

 

Phil sliced his grilled cheese in half, teeth sinking into the warm bread. Melinda had always finished eating by the time he’d arrived, although he usually got to see what beverage she’d chosen to try that day. Over the last few weeks, he’d discovered Melinda _hated_ coffee. Instead, she was working her way through _Providence’s_ extensive hot chocolate menu.

 

“What’s it today?”

 

She wrinkled her nose as she took a sip. “Peppermint.”

 

“Like drinking chocolate flavoured mouthwash?”

 

Melinda nodded, pushing the cup away. “Pretty much. How was class this morning?”

 

Phil stopped chewing his mouthful of grilled cheese when he realised what she’d asked him. In every conversation they’d had since that first day, they’d never once discussed their life outside the coffee shop. He’d wanted to. Been tempted to ask her about her morning classes; how she got the bruises on her arms. He wanted to know the route she walked to the coffee shop and what she did on Wednesday afternoons. Phil supposed this was as good a place to start.  

 

“It was good. We looked at the influence of Hydra within the Nazi Party. You know…warm and fluffy.”

 

She snorted. “Of course. Do you cover a lot of Captain America material?”

 

“Of course.” He grinned. He wondered how long this would last; how far he could push it. “My Dad was the one who got me into Captain America. He showed me all the old movies, read me Cap bedtime stories. When I was old enough, we took my first trip to New York.”

 

Melinda smiled warmly; her thoughts perhaps turning to her own father. “He sounds like a good man. Was he a teacher too?”

 

Phil nodded. “High school. I always wanted to teach. Apart from the two summers I wanted to be a pro athlete.” He smirked, glancing down at the cufflinks shaped like Cap’s shield. “Oh, and the time I spent a year wanting to be Captain America.”

 

They laughed, wistfully, as if both recalling moments from their childhood. Phil wondered what Melinda had wanted to be when she was seven. “I wanted to be an ice skater.”

 

“ _Really_?”

 

She fixed him with the glare usually reserved for queue jumpers and those with large shopping bags. Eventually he stopped smirking. When he did, she answered him. “I was obsessed with Dorothy Hamill. I liked the calm of the ice. My father took me to New York one year, just before Christmas. My mother was out of town and we went one weekend. We skated for hours.”

 

Melinda looked up, her dark eyes warm and wistful as she recalled that young girl on the ice. Phil reached across, his hand cradling the one resting atop their new book. His fingers brushed hers, thumb stroking the inside of her wrist. They shared a smile, full of warmth and yet both unbelievably homesick. He felt himself longing for Wisconsin, for his mother’s carrot cake. For _home._ These days he only felt settled in this coffee shop. With Melinda.  

 

“We should get back to the book.”

 

The moment ended. Melinda jerked her hand from underneath his, occupying it with the fork meant for the brownie he’d bought her. Nodding, Phil reached for his copy of _The Man Who Never Sleeps._ He knew everything he could about the main character. He knew barely anything about someone who was probably his only friend in New York.

 

 _He knew she skated._ On his way home from the coffee shop, he stopped by an ice rink. He watched the skaters until the wind picked up and the stars came out; lost in thoughts about a young ice skater on her first trip to New York.

 

\--

 

_Move, move, move!_

Phil darted in between pedestrians, swung around Thanksgiving shoppers and sped down the pavement towards _Providence._ He checked his watch as he ran; the red and blue scarf he’d had since college rubbing against his neck. Phil felt his bag, heavy with unmarked papers and their new book, bump against his side. Normally the walk to _Providence_ was peaceful; a time of reflection. More often it had been one of anticipation. Now it was nothing more than dread.

 

His class had overrun by what had felt like hours as several of his students asked their questions about the upcoming paper. He’d answered as best he could; trying to focus on his students’ needs rather than his own. When he’d finally dismissed the entire class, he was only a little late. By the time he’d finished talking to some of his colleagues – one having just got engaged, the other having a new book published – Phil was _really_ late.

 

He pushed into _Providence,_ the door slamming against two plastic bags laden with food and paper plates for the upcoming holiday. The woman holding them looked harassed, and she glared at Phil before shoving past him.

 

“Sorry!” Phil called out.

 

But it didn’t matter. All that mattered was Melinda. Phil made a beeline for their usual table, preparing his excuses and apologies. But all he found was a couple sharing a chocolate tart and two vanilla lattes. No book, no half-drunk mug of hot chocolate. _No Melinda._ Just two strangers sitting at their table.

 

After their last conversation, Melinda had left rather abruptly. He wondered if he’d overstepped the mark talking about his father, and she’d overshared by talking about hers. His own absence, if she’d turned up at all, surely hadn’t helped matters. Feeling dejected, Phil took his place in line. _Great._

 

“Uh, Phil?” 

 

Phil stuck his head out of the line, spotting Eric at the second counter. He and his brother Billy worked the afternoon shift, and they’d often suggested books for them to read. Phil pulled himself out of line and walked over to Eric. When he got there, he was greeted by a black coffee, a grilled cheese sandwich, and a slice of carrot cake.

 

“I don’t understand.”

 

Eric’s smile was too cheery for the day he’d had. “Well, after the first hour, Ms May guessed you were caught up at the University. She said to tell you she’d see you next Tuesday, and that lunch was on her.” He then checked the small slip of paper in his hand. “Oh, she also said you’d appreciate her choice of cake. She said to read it during chapter three?”

 

Phil tried to swallow down the joy he felt at her gesture. After his hectic day, this was _just_ what he needed. “Thank you, Eric. _Thank you._ ”

 

He pulled out his wallet and shoved the usual cost of his lunch into the tip jar. His old table in the corner was free, and Phil slid himself into the familiar seat. As he made his way through the book, he ate his grilled cheese and thought of Melinda. He waited to start chapter three until he had finished. With each mouthful of carrot cake, Phil was transported to another time. The hero’s childhood; a father and son playing catch. Somehow, she’d known. He didn’t know _how,_ but he was very grateful.

 

For one glorious chapter, he was _home._

 

\--

 

The following Tuesday, Phil was waiting.

 

It hadn’t taken much persuading to get Melinda’s usual time of arrival and order out of Eric. Hot chocolate of the day with whipped cream, and a chicken salad wrap. Today he’d got them both red velvet cupcakes too. He thought she’d get out a kick out of that considering the last chapter they’d read. He sat in their usual table and waited for her to arrive. When she did, Melinda approached the counter and made her order before she was pointed in his direction. Melinda turned, her face furrowed in momentary confusion before she burst into a smile. He loved seeing that smile.

 

 “You didn’t have to do this,” she said as she joined him at their table.

 

He grinned, pulling out her chair for her. “Consider it a thank you for Thursday. I had a _terrible_ morning and you made it all go away.”

 

“Glad I could help.”

 

As they took their seats, Phil tried to stifle his unbridled joy at seeing Melinda again. Their routine had become so part of his life it seemed almost… _odd_ when he’d spent last Thursday afternoon marking instead of talking about books. Even correcting his students’ attempts at an argument against the SSR hadn’t been as thrilling as debating historical inaccuracies in an alternate history novel. But today everything was back to normal.

 

He dug into his grilled cheese, wiping his greasy fingers on the napkin by his elbow. Melinda ate her wrap, crunching on a lettuce leaf sticking out of the tortilla. They didn’t say much during their meal, instead just enjoyed their pocket of silence in the craziness of the lunch rush. Once only a few red crumbs were left next to a smear of cream-cheese frosting, they were ready to talk.

 

Melinda opened her mouth to begin, but Phil got there first. “How was your class this morning?”

 

He wondered if he was overstepping like he had the other day. Thankfully for him, Melinda gave an answer. “Good. I had a six am Tai Chi class. The rest were as usual. Tonight I have my junior karate class.”

 

“Junior karate?”

 

She nodded. “For kids under twelve. There’s this one little girl, Daisy, who comes without fail every week. She’s a little fireball; I’ve had to stop her trying to break wood with her hands more times than I want to count.” Melinda paused. “How was your class?”

 

“Good. The Professor had a mid-morning emergency so he had to cancel.”

 

Melinda raised one eyebrow, but didn’t say anything. He knew it was stupid to cancel a class just to make sure he could be early to the coffee shop. But his kids had been working hard and they needed a break. _As did their professor._ Phil swallowed as he realised just how much seeing Melinda meant to him. It wasn’t just that he enjoyed seeing her. He thought about her all the time. From when he made his morning coffee to when he slid into bed at night to read their new book.

 

“Okay, so, what did you think of the ending to _The Last Cover_?” She asked, draining the last of her hot chocolate. “Honestly, I was expecting something else.”

 

He nodded, pushing his thoughts to one side to concentrate on the book. “I agree. I got a little confused, even. It just seemed like the writer wrote the ending first and forgot to change it before they sent it to the publisher.” Melinda laughed, Phil following suit. “You want a refill?”

 

She squeezed his shoulder as she stood up. “I’ve got it.”

 

He watched her walk to the counter and place their order. Hot chocolate for Melinda, black coffee for him. When the weather started to get warmer, she would start drinking tea again. He knew so much, yet so little. He wanted to know _everything._


	3. December

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I do not own Agents of SHIELD or any of its characters, or settings - all belongs to Marvel and ABC.

“Hi, could I get – they don’t actually make you wear those things, do they?”

 

Billy glanced up at the pair of reindeer antlers currently adorning his head. In the space of a day, _Providence_ had been decked out for Christmas. They’d lasted as long as they could, but eventually the season had come. Fairy lights around the counter; fake snow around the menu board. There were even Christmas carols playing softly on the stereo. Between finals and the new trilogy he and Melinda had just finished, Phil had forgotten it was nearly Christmas. He only had a handful of presents to buy. _Should he buy Melinda something?_

 

He glanced over in her direction, offering a friendly wave as he caught her eye. He wanted to buy her a gift. But what to give a friend he cared for but didn’t really know? A book? A new leather jacket? The last gift he’d given he’d had to return.

 

“The usual, Phil?”

 

Turning back to the counter, Phil addressed a question he _could_ answer _._ “Please, Billy. And one of these packs of mini doughnuts. Thank you.”

 

Phil went through his usual routine: handing over his money with a smile and sliding his change into the tip jar. He thanked Eric as he took his order; balancing his tray as he made his way to the usual table. _To Melinda_. He wanted to know how the preparation for the karate tournament was coming. He wanted to know what she’d thought about chapter thirteen. He wanted to know _everything_.

 

Suddenly a figure blocked his path. It took him a second too long to realise it was a friend, and in that second Clint Barton had put his arms around him. “Coulson! Damn, I didn’t realise you were back in New York!”

 

“Clint! Hi!” Phil was surprised to find himself pulled into a hug with his old college roommate. Yet he patted his old friend on the back before he pulled away. The last time he’d seen Clint had been at his wedding a couple of years ago. He looked good. A little older, but weren’t they all? “How are you?”

 

“Really, _really,_ good. Nat’s pregnant!” Phil was pulled into another hug, his coffee mug jostling. “How about you? I didn’t realise you were back living in New York!”

 

Phil bobbed his head; trying to appear nonchalant. His return to New York had come without fanfare, his new position at NYC without commendation. He had considered looking Clint up his first week in the city. But the thought of the last time he’d seen him – their wedding, with Audrey as his date – had made him put the phone down.

 

“Yeah, yeah I moved back in June,” Phil explained with as little explanation as possible. “It’s _really_ good to see you, Clint. We should get a drink sometime.”

 

Clint clapped him on the shoulder. “Absolutely! And now that you’re in New York, you can help me paint my kid’s nursery. It’ll be like my first apartment, only with my pregnant wife and vodka instead of my hot neighbour and cold pizza.”

 

“Can’t wait.” Phil then surprised himself. He dug into his wallet, finding the business cards he kept for conferences. His cell number was on the front. “Say hi to Nat and the little one for me.”

 

“I will!”

 

Phil waited until Clint brushed past him, heading for the door. He waited until his old friend gave him one more wave and then he was out of sight. Only then did he sit down in front of Melinda, his tray thumping against the wood. He didn’t say a word of greeting, just followed through with his usual routine. Grilled cheese cut in half; mini doughnuts to one side. Black coffee in the middle, the tip of his tongue burnt after a premature sip. It was only when he was halfway into his sandwich that he remembered the woman sitting opposite him.

 

“I’m sorry.” He offered her an apologetic smile, if his expression could be called a smile. “Clint’s an old friend, brought up some old feelings.”

 

“Tell me.”  

 

Phil looked up, his surprise surely written all over his face. This wasn’t conversations over the books they read together, or banal chit chat about their day. This wasn’t flashes of childhood memories wrapped up with no context, just a pretty little nostalgic bow. This was his _life_. He’d spent so many afternoons getting to know the little things about Melinda, and her him. But this was a line that took them over the boundaries of their current relationship. He wanted to jump straight over it. It seemed she did too.

 

“Last time I saw Clint was at his wedding. I went with my ex.” He offered Melinda a thin flash of a smile. “She got offered a job in Portland. I followed her. I _proposed._ But then she got another job. I couldn’t follow her this time. So we ended things.”

 

He’d struggled to live in Portland. No family, the only friends he had were _their_ friends. They were sympathetic at first, but he was the third wheel at a lot of couple’s dinner parties. He was offered a job, a really good one in New York, and he had taken it. He still had no family. He felt awkward talking to the few friends he still had left in the city. But he found _Providence._ He found Melinda.

 

“I’ve been divorced two years now.” Phil felt his jaw drop. “We grew apart; we were both working too much. Or, _I_ was working too much. I moved around for a little while before settling down in New York.

I signed my lease in July.” She bowed her head. “I don’t have many friends. You were my first one.”

 

“Mine too.”

 

Phil made the first move, reaching over to tuck her hand within his. She clutched at his hand as it rested atop the cover of their latest book. It had taken a few months, but the city didn’t feel as lonely as it once had.  All it had taken was a busy afternoon to give him the courage to just _talk_ to someone. He treasured Melinda’s friendship, treasured their afternoons in _Providence._ But for the first time since leaving Portland, Phil realised he was ready for more.

 

He wanted to make her hot chocolate.

 

\--

 

Small flecks of snow clung to Phil’s hair and scarf as he made his way past last minute Christmas shoppers. He’d finished the Christmas noir story _A Bullet Hole in my Stocking_ the night before and was eager to talk about it with Melinda. More importantly, he was eager to see her one last time before the holidays began. Come tomorrow, he would be taking a few well deserved days off. He was sure he would get to see Melinda in the New Year. But that seemed like a very, _very_ long way away.

 

As he turned the corner, he was gifted with an unexpected treat. Rather than waiting for him inside, Melinda was standing out in the lightly falling snow. She was wrapped up in her leather jacket; the thick purple and black scarf he had lent her last week around her neck. It was only when he got close enough to see the flakes of snow clinging to her cheeks, however, that Phil realised why. _Providence_ was closed. “What happened?”

 

“Busted water pipe. They’ve closed early for Christmas. I’ve been here a little while; I wanted to wait for you.” Melinda tucked a lock of dark hair behind her ear. “I wanted to see you before the holidays.”

 

Phil grinned; his smile faltering almost immediately. This wasn’t what he’d had in mind. They were supposed to sit inside, a festive glass of hot chocolate in front of them, whilst they debated the merits of a 1940s PI stabbing a snitch with a candy cane. He didn’t want their last meeting to be a simple hello before an even simpler goodbye. Then it hit him. “Do you want to come back to my place?”

 

Melinda raised an eyebrow. “Excuse me?”

 

He realised how that must have sounded. “I mean, do you want to come back to mine instead of _Providence?_ I can make us some soup and a grilled cheese. I can even dig out my mother’s old hot chocolate recipe. What do you think?”

 

 “Yes.“ A pause. “I’d love to, Phil.”

 

“Great!” He grinned. “Well it’s a little ride on the subway, or we could walk if you’d prefer?”

 

Melinda reached down for his hand, her black and purple fingerless gloves lacing with his leather pair. “Let’s walk.”

 

Phil nodded, squeezing her hand once before they began the walk to his apartment. All around them shoppers were starting to feel the frantic pinch of the approaching holiday. They darted between shoppers, between holidaymakers with large suitcases heading for subway cars and taxi cabs. The sky darkened as they passed each block; the snow flurries growing increasingly heavier. They talked little on their walk through the city, other than comments about the snow or Christmas shopping. Phil was just happy to walk, his hand holding onto Melinda’s.

 

Eventually they made it to his apartment. He ushered them inside, happy to take her wet scarf and jacket as soon as he closed the door. When he turned around to check on his friend, Melinda was looking at his bookshelves. They covered one whole wall; shelf after shelf of paperback and leather bound books.

 

“Quite a collection.”

 

“Thank you.” He hesitated when Melinda took down a rare first edition. But she was gentle, cradling it in her hands. She slid it back on the shelf with care. “I love going to rare book stores; second hand stores. It’s amazing what stories you can find tucked between the shelves. Found a couple of good records too. You like jazz?”

 

She shrugged. “I don’t mind it. I prefer rock and roll. The older the better.”

 

He watched Melinda float around his apartment, take stock of the decadent furniture and the collectibles on the shelf. It was an old apartment, renovated from a former factory several decades before. The windows were large, wide, giving an incredible view of New York and the snow falling in thick flakes outside. The heating was cheap; there was an occasional draft through the bedroom window. But soup and hot chocolate would keep them warm.

 

“Take a seat, dry off. I’ll be right back with lunch.”

 

From the small kitchenette at the back, Phil watched Melinda pull over a chair so she could watch the falling snow. He took a tub of homemade soup from the freezer and began to heat it over the stove. The grilled cheese was next. Then the hot chocolate. By the time he joined her at the window with a tray of hot food, the snow had practically become a blizzard.

 

Melinda took the hot chocolate gratefully, taking an eager sip. “I’ve been drinking at _Providence_ for several months now, and this is the best hot chocolate I’ve had in the city. Your mother’s recipe?”

 

Phil nodded. “Yes. We’d go out sledding, or playing out in the snow, and there would always be a mug waiting for me as soon as I got home. I haven’t made it in a while.”

 

“Well thank you for making it for me.”

 

They shared a smile, only stopping when they both began to shiver. Phil dished out the soup and the grilled cheese before settling back in his own chair pulled towards the window. They ate in relative silence; both occupied watching the falling snow. _It was beautiful._ The snow fell silently, the only noise in his apartment the rattle of the old heater. The warmth of the soup flooded through his extremities, helped along by the feeling he had every time Melinda looked at him.

 

She rested the spoon at the bottom of the soup bowl before curling her legs underneath her. “I wish I had my camera right now.”

 

“You’re a photographer?” He found out something new about her every day.

 

“It’s just a hobby. But I like it when the world is still. There’s so much to see that so many people miss.” Melinda slid the bowl of soup onto the floor, her knuckles flexing around her knees. “So, we should probably talk about the book now.”

 

“We don’t have to.”

 

Phil believed they were past using the books as an excuse for conversation. Behind them, Phil caught the dying sound of his heater, overwhelmed by all their wet clothes. Standing up, he immediately went to the ottoman. He had a blanket for heating emergencies, although sadly he only had one. He offered it to Melinda, wanting to make sure she kept warm in his ice box of an apartment. Instead, she just moved over in the armchair.

 

“Maybe we could stare at the snow a little while? Together?”

 

How could he refuse? “I’d like that.”

 

Phil sat beside Melinda in the armchair. It was uncomfortable for a few moments, until Melinda shifted so she was sitting against his front. He was stuck, frozen until Melinda leant back against him. She relaxed against his chest, and Phil felt himself do the same. He pulled the blanket over them, easily covering them both. As the hum of the heater died in the background, it was replaced by the soft sound of Melinda breathing.

 

It had been a long time since he had held someone. It didn’t hurt like he thought it would. It felt like coming home. Phil sighed, closing his eyes, as he melted into Melinda. “You mean a lot to me, Melinda. You mean so much. ”

 

A hand snaked out from underneath the blanket, lacing his fingers with her own. “You mean a lot to me, too. _”_

 

As Melinda tore herself from the snow to stare at him, her lips brushed his. He thought it was accidental; was ready to pull away and apologise. But as Melinda gently held his face, lips massaging his, he realised there was no need. His arms held Melinda tighter, feeling her free hand press against his chest. Underneath the blanket, his foot brushed hers. As one slight touch deepened into a passionate first kiss, Phil realised he could taste hot chocolate on her lips.

 

In that moment, Phil was hopeful of a new routine. Dinner for two, prepared in his apartment with wine instead of coffee. Breakfast, with pancakes and orange juice. Fridays at the second hand book store where they picked up two copies of the same book.

 

No more empty tables. Hot chocolate for two.


End file.
